So many years go by doing so many different projects. I think in my head I’m doing something. I think entrepreneurs live in this strange fog where everything feels real before it’s real. It’s not narcissism and it’s not self absorption. It’s this deep, maybe even irrational belief that something in your head is already alive. It just hasn’t taken shape yet.

For years I was always scrambling. Always onto the next thing. I thought I was building, but most of it only existed in my head. And still, there were wins. Real ones. I’ve built things that worked. I’ve taken those wins and turned them into new projects. Sometimes I lost. Sometimes I had to start all over again. Sometimes I won.

I remember one time about five years ago, driving five hours to a ski trip with my dad. I spent almost two of those hours talking about this coffee idea. I had already built a company that had become recognized globally and operating in 25 countries. It worked. It had impact. It just wasn’t a big enough market to create a financial win. But it made a difference. It helped people. It proved that I could start something from scratch and bring it to life. When I finished my whole pitch about this new coffee company, my dad just nodded and said, yeah, go for it, sounds great. I felt both excited and let down. Excited because he believed in me. Let down because I had no idea where to start. This thing felt so much bigger than anything I’d ever built.

So life went on. The project stayed in my head. Every few months I’d make some small move toward it. I’d do an SEO analysis. I’d make a cold brew. I’d buy beans from a guy in L.A. and send photos of the result to friends. Little sparks of progress. But always surrounded by noise. I had a million other ideas, social groups, hobbies. I was dabbling. Perpetually dabbling. Even when I had a company that made an impact around the world, it was still a side hustle. It was never full time. I still had my job. I still had too much going on. I didn’t know how to make it deeper, how to make it viable, how to take the leap.

Now, after years of slow tinkering, the coffee idea has turned into something tangible. The hours are long. It’s already past the point of fun. It feels like a job. But it’s real. And through that work, I’ve learned things I never understood before.

One of them is clarity. Real clarity. A project like this demands total transparency and authenticity. You can’t fake anything. You can’t hide behind mystery or performance. The P&L has to be clean. The numbers have to be visible. The decisions have to make sense. For years I thought business was about secrecy, about faking it until you make it, about keeping your cards close. Now I see that it’s the opposite. The strongest businesses are built in the open. They are transparent, but also protected by depth, by moats, by the intellectual property that comes from truly thinking ahead.

You share everything, but you’ve already built the structure that keeps it safe. The moat isn’t in the hiding. The moat is in the preparation. When others see the validity, when consumers and investors see the vision clearly, they don’t steal it. They join it. They add momentum. It becomes a snowball that rolls forward on its own.

Transparency changed how I see everything. It’s not just business. It’s my actions, my relationships, my boundaries. Who I let in. Who I trust. The older I get, the more I realize that not everyone can come along. I used to want everyone to win. I was the one bringing people together. I wanted to share the spotlight, the credit, the energy. But that’s not possible anymore. If I want to protect my family, my work, the people who are truly meant to be part of this next chapter, then I have to be deliberate. I have to be careful.

That’s been a painful lesson. Every person around me now has to be vetted. Every relationship has to be built on trust and shared values. It’s lonely sometimes. It’s humbling. But it’s necessary. I used to think the more people you included, the better. Now I know that focus is a form of love. Protection is a form of care.

And then there’s alignment. This process has become one long study in alignment. Alignment between what I eat, how I move, what I say, what I build, and who I spend my time with. Alignment between the hard work that drains and the hard work that gives energy. The kind of work that leaves you tired but alive. The kind of exhaustion that feels sacred.

Even in marriage, alignment matters. My wife can’t be an accessory or an extension of business leverage. She’s not a prop or a partner for gain. She has to be seen, heard, and recognized as someone far more important than the job or the company we get to build. That’s part of the discipline too. To build something great without sacrificing the people who make you human. To make sure the structure you build doesn’t swallow the soul that gave birth to it.

What we’re building isn’t just a company. It’s a movement. It’s something that will ripple out and touch lives, that will bring positive change to the world, that will lift people out of broken systems and give them something fair and regenerative. But that can only happen if the foundation is aligned. If every decision, every person, every dollar reflects transparency, clarity, and alignment.

It’s not easy. It’s brutal sometimes. Everyone is cheering me on, but there has been more pain this year than I care to admit. I’ve been broken open through this process. My body, my finances, my marriage, my friendships, all of it. To lead something real, you have to see yourself fully. You have to face your own contradictions. You have to learn to be transparent but still protective. Open but still discerning.

Life feels raw and rich. The veil has lifted. You start to see how complex it all is. Fairness, equity, compassion, efficiency, transparency, they don’t live separately. They exist together, pulling at each other, teaching each other balance.

That’s the path I’m on. Learning to hold both clarity and mystery. Both transparency and protection. Both ambition and patience.

And maybe that’s what building something real is about. Not forcing it. Not faking it. Just walking the long road to clarity and trusting that, eventually, the idea in your head becomes something you can finally touch.